The next morning Honey does one final check of the bookshop, makes me practice all the charms she’s carefully written out for me: anti-robbery charms, anti-malevolence charms, my candle-lighting magic (less fraught than lighting a fire in a hearth), and my minor prestidigitation for spelling away grime (since it doesn’t seem there’s anywhere to bathe properly, just a basin and pitcher for washing off), then gives me a ferocious hug. My eyes well up as I hug her back. I haven’t gone more than a week or two without Honeyrose at my side since I turned thirteen; now it’s impossible to say when I’ll see her again. Or under what circumstances.
“I’m going to run the bookstore,” I say, sniffing away tears. “I’m going to be handling money. Just so you know.”
“Of course you are,” she says, scowling. I know she’s scowling so she doesn’t cry. “Promise me you’ll be careful, and don’t take any risks.”
I can tell she’s still blaming herself for my foolish act in taking hold of that key less than a day ago.
“I promise I’ll be careful, Honey,” I say. “Cross my heart.”
“Don’t cross your heart; that’ll cause any vole within ten feet to suffer an immediate heart attack.”
I snort and nod, not trusting myself to speak without bursting into tears.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” I finally say.
“Of course, as soon as there’s any news. Don’t forget…” She taps the side of her nose, an old signal we developed years before. When Honey came into my life at age thirteen, it was also the age I became, essentially,public. That is, I could no longer maintain the expectation of privacy in anything other than my own thoughts. My letters and diaries are all considered public property and removed to the archives after six months, as are any speeches I deliver. It was a hard lesson to learn, as I had been rather prone to speaking my mind freely as a child. Honey’s nose-tap is her gentle reminder that I am not a private citizen, even now, and my letters to her will be read and dissected by my parents, my sister, and likely any senior minister in the Chamber.Remember, she’s reminding me.Remember:Nothing you write to me is truly private.
I tap my nose in reply.I remember.
“Good luck,” I say as she steps through the door and out onto the brightly lit street. It’s going to be another beautiful autumn day in Little Pepperidge.
“You, too,” she says, looking back at me. “And try not to get into any more trouble.”
I shake my head. “No trouble. Wait, Honey?”
She turns and looks at me. “When you’re trying to find a sorcerer or a wizard or whoever to break the curse…not Gasteyer.” The creepy wizard who lives on the floating island somewhere in the great north sea. No one has ever said anything good of him, despite his apparent facility with magic.
Honeyrose looks at me for a long moment. “No, never. Not Gasteyer.”
She straightens her shoulders and strides off toward the waiting carriage. I can see my trunks—all but the smallest one—piled up in the back. If I weren’t standing right here, if I weren’t myself,I’d think I was watching a royal carriage pull away, with a normal royal personage and her normal royal secretary seated inside, about to embark on a long, boring journey to another small town to open up another new market hall.
Instead, I’m watching my best and only friend leave with most of my worldly possessions, to return to my parents and to tell them that she failed them, and me. That I’m the victim of a strange and confusing curse, and cannot leave a small bookstore in a small town in the very middle of our country until I’ve unlocked my heart’s desire.
Or until they find a sorcerer powerful enough to break the curse.
Or…no.
They wouldn’t.
Or maybe they would.
What’s the one surefire way to break a curse, any curse, according to every story, every legend, every fable ever recorded?
True love’s kiss.
And what does true love look like, if you’re a princess? Even a very minor one?
It looks like a prince.
Honey and I never even discussed it last night, but the more I think about it, the lower my heart sinks.
Honey will try to find a sorcerer to break the curse. I have no doubt that she’ll succeed. Eventually.
But my parents?
They’re going to try to find a prince.
Chapter 9
